


To Riding Your Bike Midday Past the Three-Piece Suits

by shybird



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Drinking, First Dates, Fluff, M/M, Musicals, Some Mention of Violence, Spideypool - Freeform, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2168610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shybird/pseuds/shybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps it was a bit melodramatic of him, but Peter found he much preferred getting his ass kicked by various villains than walking downtown over noon hour. He never remembered New York quite like this, but DC: DC was filled with these three-piece suits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Riding Your Bike Midday Past the Three-Piece Suits

Perhaps it was a bit melodramatic of him, but Peter Parker found he much preferred getting his ass kicked by various villains than walking downtown over noon hour. The very summer after he graduated, with a shiny multimedia degree, he realized he never had to often deal with the hustle and bustle of any downtown areas—at least, not on the ground. School or varying day jobs kept him away from the overcrowded city. Though now that he found himself a freelance photographer, he also found it came hand in hand with dealing with the assorted shit the civilians of the city offered him. It wasn’t so much the crowds, the bird crap, heck, even the vague smell of sewer didn’t bother him much. No, what he disliked most were the men and women that were dressed in their eight hundred dollar suits that stuck their noses up at every corner as if they owned the city but were far to good for it. He never remembered New York quite like this, but DC: DC was filled with these three-piece suits.

It was often these types that would huddle around a newspaper and talk about how the cities were so much better without superheroes, as if they remember a time without Peter and the others saving their ironed dress pants on a regular basis. And it was that which would usually get to him more than even the way they would brush past him on the streets. To them, during the day he was a starving artist, someone they would try to con in to working for them and then never pay, and someone who couldn’t afford their two thousand dollar vests that made them look like penguins. But at night, they’d consider him a menace even after he saved them from being disintegrated. It was part of the job, of course, but it didn’t keep Peter from being bitter.

And Peter was unashamedly bitter.

Though, aside from the three-piece suits that he’d have to avoid as they got their expensive takeout and overpriced coffee every day at noon, DC wasn’t a terrible place to live. It was a good starting place for a photographer and not so far from New York that he couldn’t keep up his patrols there once or twice a week.

He had been edging in and out of the far too many bodies after a long morning in a studio and getting gawked at here and there for his disheveled appearance—but hey, _you_ try fighting evil all night and then have to get up at 4:15 to go to a photo shoot—when a hand landed heavy on his shoulder.

“Hey kid, you got any spare change?”

Peter patted down his pockets for a quick second, knowing full well he spent his last dollars on a less-than-decent hotdog. “Sorry man,” he started. “I don’t have any cash today.” He turned to apologize again, and was suddenly face-to-face with a mask he knew all too well. Deadpool was beaming under his mask—white eyes impossibly teasing.

“Aw, Spidey, you should really consider a more lucrative job so that you can give me money. It’d be much appreciated.” He drawled, shaking Peter just slightly for effect with the hand that was still on his shoulder.

Shoving his glasses up so that he could rub at his eyes, Peter exhaled slowly. “Wade, I’m pretty sure you’ve got more money than I do, I doubt you need my nickels and dimes.”

Wade’s face was suddenly very close to his own, as he bent down to look more closely at Peter. “Damn, you look like hell, man, what? Long day pushing buttons on that picture box of yours? Sounds tiring. Maybe you should lay off for a while, all that Photoshop must wear you out.” He took a breath to wait for a response that Peter didn’t give him. “You see what I did there, because Photoshop can’t wear you out? I could do a decent job of that part though. I’m mocking your artsy fartsy day job if you’re too tired to tell. And coming onto you. Was that part obvious? I’m thinking I should lay that on a little heavier, you look too tired to keep up with me today.”

Somewhere during Deadpool’s monologue, Peter had turned to continue his trek home, slow enough so that the mercenary could tag along at his side despite the crowds bustling in the opposite direction around them. “Yeah, I got all that, thanks for the vote of confidence on my mental state.” He paused. “But it’s less the pushing buttons and more the pushing bad guys off of things that’s getting to me. DC isn’t as quiet as New York wants you to believe.”

“You know you should start charging, like I do, it’s good money, and you only _sometimes_ get impaled by your employers, it’s a great gig!”

“I’m not charging to keep the peace.”

“Oh come on, you could walk around like these penguins then, get rid of those jeans that don’t do you any favors for your—”

“Trust me, Deadpool, that is the very last thing I damn well want. The… the suit thing, my ass looks fine in these jeans, you know it, I know it, case closed, shut up.” He very quickly ducked his head, no real threat in his words. They had been doing this vague-flirting thing for a while (not so vague on Wade’s end) and Peter still surprised himself when he played along.

Wade gave him a look. Peter knew exactly what that look was without actually seeing the look. “The suits aren’t so bad, I’ve got a few myself in fact! I could walk by all these schmucks and blend right in I bet you, talk about the weather and the stocks and uh… Wallstreet. What is Wallstreet anyway? Next time I see Stark I’m going to ask him, he probably knows what Wallstreet is.”

“Wait, wait, back up, _you_ own a suit?” Peter actually had to stop walking, not bothering to let his expression be anything less than extremely amused.

“Well, duh, do you know how many of these suckers I need to pick off like flies on a monthly basis? They’re all in some weird shit—usually embezzlement, can they be any more predictable?—and after I give’m the ol’ one-two—” he placed two fingers just between Peter’s eyes and imitated a gunshot. “—BANG! It’d be a waste to just let those Armani suits go rottin’ in the street. And so long as there aren’t too many brain guts splattered all over the lapels, I pawn them off, gain an extra few bucks for a job well done! I’ve got some hanging in my closet right now in fact. Might even have one your size, if you’re interested.”

Trying not to think too much about the implications and details of that story, Peter rolled his eyes dramatically and fell back into step along the street. “I don’t know why, but I had pictured you going into a suit store, getting fitted for one of these three-piece monkey costumes. I’m not sure if I’m happy or not that you don’t do that on a regular basis.”

Deadpool suddenly lit up, hopping back into line with Peter’s footsteps. “Hey, you like musicals? We should totally go see a musical together.” Wade stated. When the only acknowledgement Peter gave him was a bemused-yet-confused squint, he added a bit more bounce to his step. “You know, La Vie Boheme, riding your bike past the three-piece suits? It’s the best part! Mucho masturbation, dildos, curry vindaloo, hand-crafted beers, you know the one! You’d like it, you’re all artsy and East Village.”

“I swear, you’re just saying words you like now.”

“No, no, really! I can’t believe you haven’t seen that one! What about the ones with the Nazi-hyenas or the magic lesbians? Come on, those are classics! Parker, I hate to say it, but I’m so much more cultured than you, I don’t know if it’s going to work out between us, love. Two separate worlds, mate.”

“Okay, okay, first off,” Peter held up a hand. “You aren’t more cultured than me.” When Wade was about to protest, he cut him off. “And going to other countries on your ‘business ventures’ or whatever you call them, that doesn’t get you any culture points.” He stopped at the subway stairs, turning full on to Deadpool. “And second, if you’re so eager for me to see your musicals, then why don’t you go ahead and take me to one?”

It had been a bluff—well, mostly—and Peter cocked his head up with raised eyebrows to watch Wade sort that one out. Wade put a finger to his chin in faux-thought and made a humming noise, nearly muffled through the mask. Peter leaned against the railing of the subway entrance, waiting for what he was sure was going to be some smug remark, though Wade suddenly collided into him and he just barely managed to keep his footing above the stairs.

“It’s a date, Petey! I’ll pick you up Saturday at five!” 

He pushed a kiss to Peter’s forehead through his mask with a ridiculous smacking sound to emphasize the motion and then he was off, into the crowds, leaving Peter a bit baffled at the stairwell.

() ()

Peter didn’t necessarily expect Wade to hold up his promise: it was _Wade_ after all. And Wade, being Deadpool, surely had better things to do than trek back and forth from New York City to DC in order to take Spider-Man to see _Rent_. Things like… alright, Peter didn’t want to dwell on the things Wade could be doing and in fact, for that reason he wouldn’t mind the mercenary to be off the streets and in close proximity to Peter where he was _probably_ not going to kill anyone. In any case, Peter still did not expect Deadpool to show.

He definitely didn’t let that expectation twist around in his gut more than he should have either, definitely not. There wasn’t a stirring disappointment in him throughout all of Saturday as he waited for his prints to be finished. And he certainly hadn’t thought of how exciting it would be to go to New York with Wade for a night out, rather than be called there by the Avengers on business. No, he absolutely hadn’t let any of that cross his mind.

So when he had dropped off the prints and headed home, unlocked the door to his apartment, and decided he had just enough time for dinner and a drink before he put on his mask, he definitely didn’t feel a flood of excitement wash over him when he was greeted with Wade spinning in his desk chair, hands in the air.

“Ciao! Il mio amore!” It took a moment for Peter to compose himself and make an attempt to wipe the silly grin off his face before he realized not only was it Deadpool sitting in his living room, spinning in his swivel chair, but it was Deadpool sitting in his living room, spinning in his swivel chair, with a god damned three-piece suit fitted painfully well over his red and black ensemble. Wade finally ceased his whirling and very consciously adjusted his tie before throwing his hands out in gesture. “So what d’you think? I could totally be one of those corporate executives that hires you to take some pictures or something and then snubs you in lieu of putting my money in a shady business venture that eventually involves a handsome mercenary shooting me twice through the head, right?”

Peter should have been more put off by the fact Wade just admitted to wearing the suit of one of his victims, but it just simply wasn’t one of the weirdest things Wade’s done before. He honestly thought his showing up was just a notch stranger than the blood stains littering the shoulder pads of the coat. He really has been in this superhero business far too long, he decided just then, his morals were becoming questionably skewed. The worst thing wasn’t how Wade got the suit, no, it was the awful, _awful_ color scheme, which was a horrendous mix of gray and brown and yellow on top of his red and black.

He finally shut the door behind him, trying not to stare, but he had to admit: there were plenty of reasons to be staring at the sight in front of him. “You are a crime against color theory, you know that right?”

“You’re into it,” Wade stated, using a tone of voice that was unwilling to hear any argument. He had clearly dug through Peter’s liquor cabinet as he picked up a glass of clear liquid and rucked up his mask to down it. He held out the empty glass. “You need to go shopping, pal.”

Finally moving from the doorway, he made a beeline to the cupboard he kept the hard liquor in and scrunched up his nose at the lineup of empty bottles. “God dammit, Wade,” he shook a few of the bottles, choosing the ones that had something left in them, trying not to recall that he’d just refilled this cabinet not long ago. The man wasn’t in his apartment often but it always meant a month or two without buying liquor to make up for how much he drank when he was there. Not to mention it never even affected the guy. Though it was a bit of a tradition to drink a lot and often when they were together—thanks to Peter’s own healing factor. He poured what was left into two new glasses as Wade sauntered over to the counter.

Mask still pushed up over his nose, he placed a kiss to Peter’s cheek this time as if it were something they did all the time—was it something they did all the time?—before he swiped one of the glasses up. He held it up, grinning manically until Peter picked his up as well.

“To going against the grain!” Wade cheered, practically singing, clinking their glasses together. “Going insane, going mad!” They both downed their drinks after that, Peter unable to think of anything more accurate at the moment. He shook his head and coughed, the taste of mixed alcohol heavy in his throat. Wade hit him on the back once, not helping a single thing. “To compassion, to fashion, to passion when it’s—oh wait! That reminds me!”

Peter was still trying to get control of his vocal chords when Wade rushed back to the swivel chair. “I still don’t understand what you’re quoting.” He cleared his throat once and dumped the glasses into the sink to deal with later.

“You’ll understand it after tonight!”

When he turned around he was met with a suit, pressed and ironed, and looking suspiciously clean, hanging in front of his face, Wade just behind it smiling ear to ear. It took a moment for Peter to connect the dots before he pushed it away. “ _No_. Absolutely not.”

“C’mon, Peter, if I’m taking you out on a date, you’re going to look good whether you like it or not. Can’t have my image be lessened by you!”

“I’m not wearing some suit you pulled off of a dead man,” the words were ridiculous but he was chuckling despite the fact. “Even if it does look dry-cleaned.” He pushed past him, ignoring the groaning and whining Wade was tossing at him, and headed towards his room to find something that would set him happily apart from the three-piece suits—though, not from Deadpool, he kept in mind.

() ()

They nearly got through the entire performance, which Peter considered a small victory in itself, before the theater was evacuated and he and Wade forcibly removed from the premises. For as many times as Wade vowed he’d been to the theater, he vehemently argued that, no, he didn’t know shooting pistols into the rafters weren’t a proper form of applause. Still, they had gotten to the last act and Peter was happy enough for that. It’s the little things right?

They ended up sitting on a small edge of the Chrysler building with beers and popcorn, Wade trying his best to explain the last act of the show, only breaking out in exasperation twice over the fact that explosives should be considered the highest form of praise. They had their legs dangling over the edge and Peter kicked his feet in beat with Wade’s voice rising and falling. It was a strange peace that Peter felt, sitting close to Wade, so far above the bustle of the streets he’d grown such a distaste to. The other man’s voice just above the hum of traffic below them was something of a sweet relief. He preferred his hustle-and-bustle to be confined to a single human he decided then and there.

“…And you know, we never actually found out about the akita, the poor thing died for fuck’s sake,” he had been saying, though Peter admittedly had tuned out some of the rant to stare at how the city lights glowed around Deadpool’s unmasked face. “Hey, do you like dogs? We should get a dog, let’s get one of them big ones, like the Beethoven dog, we can name it Vodka!” He raised his beer bottle and clinked it against Peter’s as if that declaration settled it. “Vodka the Beethoven dog, it’s got a good ring to it, oh but anyhow, the voices got me off track, about Mimi and Roger—”

“Hey Wilson,” Peter finally cut him off, fiddling with the bottle in his hand. He carefully contemplated his next move when Wade finally snapped his mouth shut. “Could you just, like, shut up for a quick second?”

“Probably not,” he admitted, lips quirking up at the edges.

Peter took his chance and leaned in to press his lips to Wade’s, chaste and quick but very determined. It felt normal, after all their bantering and fighting over the years, after Wade’s kisses to his cheek and forehead, how it turned to comradery and even friendship, actual kissing seemed like the natural course.

Wade stayed stalk still for a few moments as Peter pulled away as quickly as he’d leaned in. It took a moment for them both to assess his actions before Wade pulled Peter back in, smiling into another kiss, instantly making it a touch dirtier as long as Peter seemed willing. “Well,” he mumbled against his lips. “If I’d known musicals were your thing, I would have suggested this ages ago.” Before he could say anything else, Peter quickly shut him up, edging as close as he possibly could to the other man, nipping on his lips and running his tongue over the scars. “Told you that you were into the suit,” Wade still managed to say no matter how close Peter tried to keep their mouths.

“You wear this god awful suit again and I can promise we won’t be doing this anytime soon,” he said, though they both knew it was a terrible lie. “We’re getting you a new wardrobe.”

**Author's Note:**

> This may or may not have stemmed from my not getting paid from a freelance gig the other week and I needed a character to rant through… And then it turned into suits and musicals and Spideypool! This is also the first fic I’m ever posting online and the first fic where I’m writing Deadpool or Spider-Man at all so hopefully it’s alright! Thanks for reading!!


End file.
